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Marija Najthefer Popov

Marija Najthefer Popov,

born in Sivac (Backa, Vojvodina, Serbia) on March 11, 1958, where she met a beautiful written word. Since 1996, she lives and creates in Zrenjanin. Until now, she has been published in more than a hundred joint, domestic and international poetry collections; published in several domestic and foreign journals; translated into several languages.

Her first solo collection of poems, “I WRITE A WOMAN,” was released in 2018.  The motive behind her poetry is Rose, and Woman in all its beauty and splendor… Love is the initiator of everything!




I am writing this letter, Darling,

(which is unexpected result of some uneasiness in me,

some black foreboding. I could not resist fear and temptation…)

I hope you are well, thanks to God.

For many years, the aorta of life

poured into my heart

ink of sadness,

which hurts and lasts…

(and they say that time works wonders)

That ink overflows with strength of endurance

and was not spent on letters,

that should have arrived much earlier

as confession, plea, regret…

whatever, Darling,

and smooth our misunderstandings in time…

So, year after year,

all chances were missed and heart,

heart suffered an attack!


I tried to explain to them

that it was fatigue

caused by pain, longing, sorrow because of you,

us, my Darling,


who still believes in eternal love?

…and while they were performing open heart surgery on me,

I held you firmly

so they wouldn’t accidentally

rip you out of my chest,

where you live since I know you

and forever,

my Darling.

There you abide, rein, cause pain, suffocate…

but, it is OK!

They did bypass and regulated my blood flow

saying: only one blood cloth

but caused hundred percent blockage!

They have no idea, my Darling,

that you abide there forever.

There you swell like water

at the Djerdap,

like Fake healing crystals

which triples overnight in the water…

They don’t know, my Darling,

that you are always

blocked passage of my life

(every love boat you stop and sink…)


Darling, I wrote selfishly, so much

about me. How are you?

(I heard you waiting for heart transplant.)

To be honest, that news broke me.

I decided to write this letter to you, my Darling,

and let you know,

this morning in the transplant center

I wrote and signed:

I donate my heart to you, exclusively!

(You know, my Darling,

when they cut our breasts open

you out of mine…

and I will jump out of yours…)

Then hug me tight

and we will fly…!

The clouds are so soft!

Heaven is endless eternity!

So much for now.

Stay mine!

Me, definitely yours!

Until our flight into eternity!

Yours forever, me!

Written: with ink from my heart-with bloody ink of my life.

On the day: quiet ordinary.

Important: the day of the meeting of the final and eternal!

marijanajtheferpopov @


Rose garden (Defloration)

I met you

in the rose garden

like a bee would

nectar and pollen powder,

to use

for honey,

royal jelly,


I brought you

into myself,

for fertilisation

in my life and

every future breath.

My dream of you

(in sign of rose

royal, unreal beautiful

in all her splendor,)

is like a castle healed

in the rose garden,

all mine.

My dream of you,

marijanajtheferpopov @


Hidden in your poem

No matter in what language you write

I understand you.

Do not hide in verses

it is not necessary.

If you write about winter I freeze.

When you write about tear

I cry,

about beauty I become shy,

about goodness,

thank God we are alive.

Good thing we are here, even as examples.

But, when you write about love,

I plug all my senses,

I am in it,

a lot of hidden me is your poem.

marijanajtheferpopov @

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